


Old Friends

by Katastrophe94



Series: Toon Town [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: And I couldn't keep my grubby little paws off of this scenario, Angst, Cartoon Physics, Gen, My love for this also knows no bounds, Toon Henry AU, Violence, cartoon shenanigans abound, poor Boris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 08:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katastrophe94/pseuds/Katastrophe94
Summary: Sometimes people change, and they don't always change the way you want them to. Henry learns this the hard way.





	Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

> And so, after many days of dilly-dallying, I finally got off my ass and wrote this thing! Credit for the Toon Henry Au goes to the lovely SquigglyDigg, where you can read all her stuff about it on her tumblr. Seriously, its great, go check it out. - https://squigglydigglydoo.tumblr.com/
> 
> Anyway, I you all enjoy my rendition of how this scene is gonna go down! I hope I do the squiggly version of these characters adequately.
> 
> This came out way longer than I thought it would, too. Whoops.

Henry didn’t know what to think as he stood there.

He didn’t know if it was sheer blind chance that had led him to this room in particular, or another ‘script’ so lovingly written out by whatever madness controlled this place, but here he was. The door looked exactly as he remembered it, the varnish a little chipped here and there, the frosted glass window with the concentric whorls in one corner that didn’t quite match the rest of the style, the well-used and worn golden knob . . . the nameplate just below the window with the words ‘Joey Drew’ impressed into the beaten metal . . .

It’s been decades, but Henry can almost imagine he’s walking up with another stack of concept art under his arm, knocking and calling, ‘Hey, Joey, I got something for ya!’, and the door opening to a familiar, smiling face. Beyond, he could here soft music playing, an instrumental ditty that sounds familiar and yet, he can’t quite place the name.

But the door is toonified just like everything else in this damn place, looking just wrong enough to break the illusion and remind him that if he were to knock now, there may very well be only a loaded gun waiting on the other side instead.

What else was Henry to believe? The nightmares inside the studio, the walking horror that had been Sammy, the fact that Bendy and the rest had believed he’d walked out on them on purpose, thought he was a traitor . . . it was all Joey’s handiwork. Whatever had happened in these past thirty years, it was more than clear to Henry that the friend he knew had changed dramatically . . . maybe even unrecognizably.

But beneath his uncertainty, there’s a burning desire to know _why_. Why did he build the machine? Why did he call him back now when it was so clear once that Joey had never wanted to see him again? Why did he do all of this, _keep_ doing it, when people were _dead?_

And yet . . . he didn’t know if he was ready for this confrontation. Not only with the emotional weight it would carry, but if it _did_ fly south, Henry wasn’t sure if he would survive. Joey had been here for far longer than him, was familiar with this version of reality and had probably learned a few tricks of his own by now. And meanwhile, Henry could only summon a _pen_. . .

His hands had tightened into fists by now, and his heart is hammering in his chest, loud enough that the _thud thud thud_ has grown audible. Stupid toon logic . . .

“Henry!”

Henry jumped, heart actually thumping out through his shirt before he spun around and threw up his arms, whispering, “Shh _hhh!_ ”

Boris stopped in his tracks, looking simultaneously puzzled and taken aback, “Uh . . . sorry?”

He felt a little guilty, but Henry would rather not attract the room’s resident until he was ready, “Look, uh, sorry, I just . . . this is Joey’s office.”

He had hoped that would be explanation enough, but Boris just stared at him with a paw wrapped around the back of his neck, confused, “It . . . is?”

Henry winced. Of _course_ he would know that . . .

“And I’d . . . prefer it if he didn’t know I was here yet,” he said, hands waving uselessly in front of him.

“Oh,” Boris lifted a paw to scratch at his head, “So, what are you doin’ standin’ out here for, then?”

Would that he knew the answer to that.

“I . . . just found it, I guess,” Henry looked at the toon now, “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were going to talk to Bendy.”

The troubled look that entered Boris’ eyes is _not_ reassuring.

“I . . . did,” Boris mumbled, ears drooping, “But . . . something happened, and . . . I wanted to ask Mr. Joey about it.”

Something happened? With that rotten lil’ punk, that could mean a number of things. But if that ‘something’ was bad enough to breed genuine concern in his closest friend, then . . . oh no . . .

“He changed, didn’t he,” it’s more of a statement than a question, and with the way Boris cringes, Henry knows he’s hit the mark.

“He did,” Boris looked up at him, and the apprehension in his eyes is worrying to see, “Henry, it wasn’t right. That’s . . . that isn’t somethin’ that’s supposed to _happen_!”

Henry reached out, patting a consoling hand on the wolf’s arm, “I know. I’m sorry.”

There’s a beat of silence between them, Boris with his head bowed and Henry standing in front of him, teeth grit, _Damn it, Joey, just how much did you lie to them?_

_Click._

The sound of the door knob turning had only just registered with Henry, when an achingly familiar voice speaks and stops the world, “Boris, is that you out here? Whatever are you-,”

Henry turned around, and he’s met with a pair of old, crinkled monochrome eyes behind a pair of glasses as Joey Drew stares back with a mixture of surprise and wonder, “-doing?”

He looks nearly the same as he did when Henry left. Older, obviously, and with proportions far more toon-y, but beneath it he can tell it’s the same man he once called his boss and his friend. There’s a white mustache over his top lip, his graying hair ruffed up just like Henry remembered, and with his spectacles and wrinkling face, he looks pitch perfect for the grandfatherly role of a caretaker or a wise man. If only Henry could believe it.

“Henry,” Joey said, breaking the stiff and uneasy silence that had fallen between them. The man took a slight step out from his office, opening the door just a little more, “Henry Ross.”

“. . . Joey,” Henry replied, turning to face the man in full.

Behind him, he heard Boris shift on his feet, and he knows the toon feels awkward and uncertain here right now. Privately, Henry is worried. If Joey decided to go off on him again, there’s nothing stopping Boris from getting caught in the cross-fire.

But then, Joey blinks and slowly, a small smile crosses the man’s wrinkled face. He politely stands aside and holds the door open, and the invitation is one Henry could recall seeing many times before, back when things had been better, “Well, this is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you for some time yet, Henry. But please, do come in! I imagine you have some questions.”

 _You got that right,_ Henry thought, brow furrowing. His instinct was screaming to be wary, to not trust the man in front of him, no matter how kindly he was smiling.

“Boris,” Joey glances at the wolf, and the toon raised his head, ears perking up, “Would you wait out here for a few minutes? Henry and I need to have a chat.”

Boris’ ears fall, and he rubbed his paws together, looking uncertain. Joey noticed it immediately, but he waited for the toon to speak, softly prompting, “Yes, Boris?”

“Uh . . . i-it’s just . . .” Boris looked unsure about what to say, and Henry knew the question he wanted to ask wasn’t one he never thought he’d have to, “Something happened earlier and I’m . . . I’m worried about Bendy.”

“Oh? Well, whatever trouble Bendy’s caused I’m sure can wait for just a little longer. We’ll be done in a flash!” Joey said, and the dismissive tone in his voice made Henry uncomfortable. Once, Joey would have stopped to listen if someone had a concern.

“But, Mr. Joey, its serious!” Boris insisted, taking a step forward so he didn’t lose the man’s attention, “And I . . . I think that you-,”

“Yes?” Joey’s still smiling, but there’s a sudden and subtle tweak to it that sets the whole thing teetering, like it’s about to drop. Henry noticed immediately.

He intercedes with a raised hand, waving to the toon, “It’s alright, Boris. We’ll be out real fast, you’ll see. Just . . . let me talk to him, okay?”

The wolf stares at him, clamping his paws together and looking like he wanted to object. But then, he closed his mouth, and Henry thanks every star above his head that the toon didn’t push the issue. He is positive Joey knows what’s going on when it comes to the little devil running amok, just like the rest of this place, and he damn well is going to ask. But if the answer’s as serious as he believed it was, then there was no telling how his former friend would react, and he didn’t want Boris getting hurt because of it.

“Very good,” Joey said, smile sliding back into affability. He looked at Henry inclined his head to the door, “Do come inside, Henry.”

Henry gave one last look back to Boris, catching the toon’s eye. It comes to light that maybe he’s not covering his nervousness as well as he’d thought, because the wolf gave him an encouraging smile in return, despite the worry in his eyes. After all, Joey was the one who’d spread the lie of him being a traitor. Boris must understand why this is moment is as tense as it is.

Even as he turns away, it feels like his insides are doing summersaults as he finally does as Joey asks, stepping beyond the old threshold like he hadn’t done in over thirty years.

Its like stepping into a piece of the past. The old, dusty office is exactly the same as he remembers it, albeit a little more . . . toony. The left wall lined with old fashioned bookshelves crammed with books and folders in carefully ordered chaos, the right wall with pictures and framed accolades of the studio’s achievements, the desk covered with papers and pens and quills, the old chair with the worn scuff marks in the leather, and finally, the small radio that sat alone in the very back corner, playing its old songs.

It’s so . . . _familiar_. And so not. But whatever else he might have had to say about it was cut short with the sound of the door gently clicking closed.

And, if he wasn’t mistaken, the more ominous sound of a lock being slid home.

He took a breath to steady his nerves, ignoring the bead of sweat that began to gather in the corner of his brow as Joey sidled past him with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. He turned to face Henry once he reached his desk, leaning back and bracing his hip against the wooden edge with his hands pressed to the surface and one ankle crossed over the other. He’s still smiling, and in the overhead light of the rickety fan spinning above their heads, it looks much sharper than a smile should.

“So,” Joey starts, looking Henry in the eye, “Thirty years.”

Henry stares back, feeling like an insect in a display case under the other man’s gaze, “. . . yeah. Time sure flies.”

“Ah, that it does, that it does,” Joey agrees amicably, nodding, “But even with all that time, I’m glad you decided to come back.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” he’s glaring now, openly, but Henry doesn’t care, lifting his arms to gesture at the whole office, “Joey, what the _hell_ is going on in this studio? Just- . . . just what the _fuck_ have you been doing here?”

“Well, I would think that would be obvious,” the man replied, and his smile grows, “I’ve been making miracles.”

“ _Miracles?_ ” Henry asked, face dropping into an expression of complete disbelief.

“Of course! Just look around you!” Joey rose up from his place, swinging a grandiose arm around, “All of this, the result of my work! The machine, the workshop, my toons, all of it!”

“The toons . . .” Henry muttered, shaking his head.

“Yes. Aren’t they wonderful?” Joey had a look of pride on his face, like the one he’d worn the day the two of them had drawn them out on paper, “I admit, I . . . wasn’t sure if it would even work. But the results are far more incredible than I could have ever imagined, don’t you think?”

“’Incredible’ is one word for it. ‘Dangerous’ could be another,” Henry said, crossing his arms.

Joey waved a hand at him, “Oh, don’t give me that, Ross. The day you left is the day you lost any right to criticize.”

“Is that why you go around calling me a traitor?” Henry demanded, anger rising and making his face turn red. It would be comical if the circumstances were different, “Why you’ve gone and made Bendy and the others think I abandoned them?”

At that, Joey’s face becomes . . . a little more contrite, lips pursing, “Alright. I _may_ have made some comments in the past that painted you in a more ill light, I admit. But you can hardly blame me, or them. They were as children when they first came, Henry, and like all children, they didn’t understand why everyone had just walked out the door and never returned,” he pointed at the door, “Because once, you _did_ walk away from this. From all of us.”

The accusation stung just like it did all those years ago, but over it is a simmering anger that refuses to die out, “Are you serious? I was _drafted_ , Joey! I couldn’t do anything about that!”

“You were,” Joey replied coolly, nodding, “But there was nothing stopping you from coming back.”

 _I thought you didn’t_ want _me to come back!_ he wants to scream.

“We fought, Joey,” is what comes out instead, through gritted teeth, “I think the exact words were ‘if you ever leave the studio, Ross, you had better never look back.”

Even now, Henry remembers the words verbatim. That was how much they had cut.

Joey, for his part, doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he nodded, “I’ll admit to that as well. But there was a _reason_ I sent you that letter, Henry.”

Henry scoffed, “Yeah? Are you about to tell me it was all for a good reason, and _not_ to be chased around by some little devil hell-spawn?”

Joey just shrugged, “Oh don’t take it so personally. Bendy deserved some form of recompense, and here, the consequences are much less severe than they could be. And, for my part . . . I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”

This has Henry raise an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“I want to bury the hatchet, Henry. I sent that letter because I thought ‘well, times have changed, surely he has too’,” Joey stated, arms up with his palms turned towards the ceiling, “And this thing I’ve done, well, I wanted to share it with someone I once thought of as a close friend. I have big plans, Henry.”

That sounded ominous, “Plans?”

“Of course. Look at all this around you, this reality that bends or even breaks the laws of our own! Anything is possible here, the only limit is your own imagination!” Joey had started pacing, eye glittering with something akin to passion and yet . . . something stronger, “Just look at you! So close to your golden years, and yet you’re as spry as a young buck!”

“I didn’t exactly _ask_ for this, Joey!” Henry snapped, pressing his fingers to his chest to emphasize his point.

“I know, but I needed you to see the results for yourself,” Joey replied, “Otherwise you would never have believed me. But surely you can understand now why this is such an amazing thing. And once I introduce it to the world, everyone else will come to understand as well.”

“Introduce it to the-?” Henry stops dead, eyes widening and mouth falling slack as a cold, cold dread seizes his heart, “You want to spread this . . .”

Joey mistakes the quiet horror in Henry’s voice for awe, because the grin he gives is blinding, “I knew you’d catch on quickly! You see, once I knew this could work, I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself. That would be an incredible disservice! But just _think_ , Henry! In a world of toons, who would have to fear untimely death, when you can simply bounce back from what hit you? Who would have to worry about feeling their age, when age simply becomes a number to define you? Disease, famine, even wars like the one that took you away, they would all be a thing of the past! There are so many possibilities, _countless_ possibilities, and it’s all possible thanks to my machine!”

Henry stares, truly aghast at what he’s hearing. He doesn’t know what’s going on in Joey’s head, or how he came to the conclusions he did, but without pause, he steps forward and yells, “You can’t do that!”

Joey stops walking, going as still as stone, and the silence that falls is _deafening_.

“Joey . . . do you have any idea what’s happened out there? Do you even know what happened to Sammy?!” Henry demanded, a visceral and livid fury boiling under his skin.

Joey slowly dropped his arms, face disturbingly neutral as he tapped the tips of his fingers together, “. . . Sammy was one of the first I got right. But unlike you, he couldn’t separate this reality and the real one, or reconcile them in a meaningful way, and because of that, his mind deteriorated. So did his form. An unfortunate tragedy, but one beyond my control.”

“Sammy’s _dead!_ ” there’s some satisfaction when Henry sees the surprise that lights up in Joey’s eyes, but it’s not enough to stop his steadily rising anger, “Dead because _you_ didn’t tell Bendy that humans aren’t the _same_ as toons! And now you’re tellin’ me you wanna bring this out into the rest of the world?! Where there are hundreds like Sammy, who won’t be able to survive because _this_ ” he waves angrily at the office around him, “Isn’t something that’s supposed to be?”

“Hmm . . .” Joey is still infuriatingly calm, but there’s a coldness in his eyes now where there wasn’t before, and he laces his hands behind his back and says, “Henry, you were very good when it came to precision work, but as always, you have trouble seeing the big picture. Will there be more like Sammy? Unfortunately, yes. But for the greater good, sometimes hard sacrifices need to be made. That’s why I kept going even after the first transformations failed. Why I kept going even when Sammy lost his mind!”

“First transformations-,” a sick, sick realization comes over him then, one that curdles his blood as he thinks back on the mindless beasts he’s encountered, and he stares at Joey in open horror, “You didn’t. Oh my god, you _didn’t-!_ ”

“I didn’t _want_ this to happen to them, Henry!” Joey snapped, finally losing some of his composure, hand cutting through the air, “It was the last thing I wanted! But I had already come so far, turning back would have wasted _everything!_ ”

A manic gleam had entered Joey’s eyes, and that’s when Henry realized just how far gone his old friend was. How deeply he had sunken into madness without even realizing it was madness, that the blood he’d spilled was worth this nightmare he called paradise.

And that he’d willing done this to his old colleagues, to people who had _trusted_ him-!

“You- . . . you-!” Hands balling into fists, Henry’s body quakes as rage boils over, higher and higher and higher until red rises up over his entire body and steam shoots out of his ears with the intensity of a train whistle, and without a second thought, he ran with a fist raised to knock the old man’s lights out, “You _SON OF A BITCH!_ ”

Joey brings his hands out from behind his back, and Henry catches a glimpse of black before his head is suddenly thrown back with a violent crack, something hard slamming into his jaw. The force is so great he’s thrown back, skidding against the rug until his head slams against the door with a loud _thud_ , leaving him seeing stars.

Even as his vision spins back to normal, he can hear Joey yelling, waving the gag boxing glove he’d pulled from nowhere in the air as he seethes and stomps around, “I had hoped you would see things differently Henry! I had hoped you had changed! But it seems nothing has! You’d still turn your back on me, on _everything!_ ”

Henry clambered back to his feet, one hand clamped around his jaw as he gently rolls it back into place. Growling, he snapped, “How can you think any of this is the right thing to do?!”

“Because _it can change the world!_ ” Joey shouted back.

“And how do you think you can keep it from people when they find out what it can do? This is the kind of thing that _starts_ wars, Joey!”

“I won’t let them,” there’s so much certainty in his voice, so much confidence, “I can make them not go to war, don’t you understand? I can make them do anything I want, if it strikes me!”

Henry can’t believe his ears, and his voice lowers just a little to breathe in shock, “. . . you can’t even hear yourself right now, can you?”

Joey glared at him, before he sucks in air through his nose and exhales through his mouth. Once done, he looks again, and while he’s still clearly simmering, he’s more controlled than before, “I had hoped you would at least see the good this would bring when I brought you here. Clearly, that was a mistake. But I’ve come too far to stop now, and if you’re going to get in _my_ way, Henry, then that means you’re an enemy.”

Henry tensed, for once noticing the disadvantage he was at. Joey had been in this toon world for far longer than he’d been, who knows what kind of tricks he had learned.

Still, he wasn’t gonna go down without a fight.

Slamming his fist into his open palm, he growled and cracked his knuckles, “Bring it on.”

There’s a tense silence in the air, one that hangs heavy over them both. Once, they’d met in this room as friends and equals, sharing jokes and drawings and dreams. Now, it couldn’t be more opposite. Now, it couldn’t have gone more wrong.

Joey reaches behind his back again, and Henry braces a leg behind him, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. And then-

_Click._

The sound of a door opening makes them both freeze.

“Mr. Joey? Henry?”

Henry spun around only to find Boris peeking his head sheepishly through the door, a pair of old keys in his hand and frown on his face, “Sorry to disturb you, but . . . I heard alotta banging and yelling. Is . . . everything okay?”

Henry held his hands out and gestured for Boris to back up, because he does _not_ want the toon getting caught in the middle of this, “It’s alright, Boris. We’re just . . . having a small disagreement! Just go on back outside, and we’ll-,”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because then is when searing pain suddenly scorches his back like fire, and he drops to the floor with an agonized scream. It’s a different pain from what he’d felt in this place. That pain was muted, dull, an aftereffect of his toon form. But this one is much more _real_. The burn is awful, worse than the one he got when a motor shell had gone off and the burning shrapnel had scored into his arm and face, and it’s all he can focus on. Its crept down his back to his legs, and he moans as he forces an arm under his body, trying to lift himself up. But his legs don’t respond the way they should. They feel . . . too gloppy to move . . .

Distantly, he hears Boris yell in panic, “ _Henry!_ ”

It’s so hard to focus, but he manages to force an arm around and gropes at his side, hissing between his teeth when his fingers come into contact with the wound. He feels something dribble between his fingers, and when he pulls it back, he can make out a thick black stain on his hand that wasn’t there before.

Its ink . . . his ink . . . his blood . . .

Hands appear around his shoulder, gently guiding him up, but even with that help, his arm still trembled as he used it to support himself. He grits his teeth against the pain as Boris helps him around, pushing him to sit up, and its only then he’s able to really take stock of what happened.

Joey’s standing about a yard away, and there’s a glove over his right arm and a bottle clutched in his hand, the contents of which had been unceremoniously thrown at him. But then his gaze travels and find himself, and what he sees is . . . not good.  Whatever it was Joey had thrown at him, it had been quite a bit more effective than any of the toon gags he’d encountered thus far. He can still feel his back dribbling, and his legs look . . . god, they look _melted_! His left is worse off than his right, barely holding any form of solidity at all, and a creeping numbness was starting to settle in it. He’s grown used to his body doing things they shouldn’t, but _this_ . . . this reminds him far too much of the aftermath he had seen on some soldiers after a brutal shelling, of melted skin and broken bones and the smell of burning flesh is suddenly in his nose and his stomach bottoms out as the rising nausea makes him gag.

Its loud and wet and there’s nothing comedic about it, and when the violent hacking finally passed, he felt something dribble down his chin.

“Henry!” Boris shouted, looking panicked and horrified. He turned to Joey, eyes searching desperately for an answer, “M-Mr. Joey, why-?”

“He was going to betray us all again,” Joey said, dropping the bottle he carried the floor, “I couldn’t let him do that.”

“B-but this is-!”

“Necessary,” Joey cut the horrified toon off midsentence, and Boris stared at him in shock. But Joey doesn’t seem to register it, or even care that it’s there, because he walks back around his desk and pulls open one of the drawers. He grabs what he needs, slams it shut, then walks back to them, a steely glint in his eyes. There’s no warm smile anymore as he tossed the rope at Boris, and his words are curt and cold, “Tie him up, and then leave us. I’ll figure out what to do with him later.”

It’s clear he expected the toon to do as he commanded, but the only thing Boris does is stare in open, undisguised disbelief, hands not leaving Henry’s shoulders, “W-what-? Mr. Joey, this isn’t right!”

Joey’s eyes narrowed, “Isn’t it? Don’t you see, Boris? Henry was never on our side. I had hoped he would be, but it’s clear that hope was misplaced, just like your trust in him!”

“But Henry’s not that bad a guy, he’s-!”

“He wants to stop everything I’ve worked towards! He doesn’t want to share this with the world! And if he is going to get in the way, then the only thing we can do is remove him! Now do as I say, and _tie him up!_ ” the rage in Joey’s eyes returned, and the change has Boris completely taken aback.

Fighting through the pain that’s hazed his mind, Henry shifts and forces himself to speak, growling, “Don’t . . . don’t take it out on Boris, Joey. I’m the one that’s pissed you off.”

Joey’s eye snap to him, like he hoped they would, and there’s a snarl in his voice as he points a hard finger at him, “That you have. You want to ruin everything I’ve built! This magnificent world that can change so much for the better!”

“Your world’s poisoned,” Henry coughed out, “It might be fine for toons, but it’s _not_ for humans! It’s just not!”

“It could be. It will be.”

“And how many’ll die for it?” he spat out in response, glaring hotly at the man he once called a friend.

Joey doesn’t answer. Instead, he began to stride to them, nostrils flaring, “Move aside, Boris. If you won’t do as your told, then I’ll just do it myself.”

Beside him, Boris had gone silent, but Henry can see a very deep and very unsettled realization come upon the toon. Slowly, the wolf lifted his gaze up, and he looked at Joey as if he’s seeing him for the very first time, whispering, “Henry’s right . . .”

Joey’s steps falter, “. . . what did you say?”

“Henry’s right,” Boris said again, louder this time, and more strongly, “There . . . there is something wrong with this place! What happened to the first humans that came here, what’s happening to Bendy, my _pal!_ Joey, I . . . I didn’t want to think you were lyin’ to us! I don’t wanna think that everything you showed about yourself wasn’t true! But this-,” he looked at Henry, at the ink-stained, running mess that was his legs, and shook his head, “this isn’t what _toons_ do!”

In front of them, Joey had gone stock still, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly ajar. But the corner of his lips keeps twitching, and in his eyes, Henry can see the beginnings of an apoplectic rage, even though his voice is deathly quiet, “Are you . . . siding with _Ross_. Over _me?_ ”

“I don’t want to pick sides,” Boris voice is tortured, “That’s not what . . . what I do. But . . .this isn’t right.”

Silence. For so long, there’s silence.

And then Joey starts to chuckle. Its small at first, a tiny, breathless huff that passes his lips in short, erratic spurts. But then it grows louder in tune and pitch, higher and higher until he’s full on _guffawing_ , one hand pressed to the side of his head with the other arm wrapped around his middle, sides heaving as his glasses are knocked askew. He’s never looked more like a madman than he did right then, and beside him, Henry can feel Boris start to shake.

Quietly, he reaches behind his back.

“I-I can’t believe this!” Joey wheezes, wiping at his eyes, “H-he’s actually turned you against me! You, of all people, Boris! It’s-it’s so _ridiculous!_ ”

“J-joey, I don’t-,” Boris tried to speak, but he’s cut off by another bought of raucous laughter.

But when it started to fade, something dark entered Joey’s eyes, something scary. The man’s fingers curl through his hair, gripping until the strands are pulled taut, muttering, “I brought you into my world. I gave you life, an opportunity to start again, and _this_ is how you repay me? I can’t believe it . . .”

 His hand dropped, and he loomed over the two of them, a sight that makes Boris shrink away, “But if that’s how you want it to be, Boris . . . then so be it.”

Boris whines, genuinely afraid now, and Henry can’t blame him. But before Joey can take another step, he barked, “Joey!”

The man graces him with one withering glance, but that tiny bit of attention is all he needs. As quick as he can, he swings the hand he had behind his back out and points his trusty pen at the man’s face. Then . . . nothing happens.

Joey stares at him, bewildered. And he's also no longer thinking like either a toon or an animator, and Henry smirks when he realized it had worked.

And without so much as a word of fanfare, he squeezes the pen _hard_.

Ink sprays out of the narrow tip in a deluge, and Joey reels back with a startled shriek as his face is suddenly doused in inky black. He stumbles back, wiping at the mess and screaming, “ _Damn it Ross!_ ”

Henry pushed at Boris, whispering urgently, “Go! Get outta here while he’s distracted!”

He knew he was in no condition to run right now. Whatever Joey had doused him with ad been no gag, and his legs hadn’t even begun to recover from their half-melted state. But he could at least give Boris a chance.

So focused is he on that, he missed the determined gleam that entered the wolf’s eyes. At least, until the toon suddenly scooped Henry up like he only weighed a pillowcase and threw him over his shoulder. The movement jars his back, and he hisses in pain, but he’s grateful to see that despite being a globby mess, his lower half stays attached to him.

“Sorry, Henry! This might be a little bumpy!” that’s the only warning Boris gives him before the wolf bolts for the door.

Henry has just enough time to glance back into the office before Boris crosses the threshold, watching as Joey thrashed about. He still screaming at him, him and Boris, no longer the kindly figure he had made himself resemble in this story. The sad thing is, Henry has no clue what the man’s real personality is anymore.

That’s when the door swings shut, Boris slamming it closed behind them. For good measure, the wolf reaches to the side and pulls back a chair that hadn’t been there a moment ago, jamming it under the doorknob like Henry had seen so many times before in lighter circumstances.

Once done, the toon retreats with Henry still flung over his shoulder, the sound of Joey’s incensed yells fading behind them.

_

Henry sat with his back propped against the wall, wincing as he gingerly stretched out his right leg. Boris had brought him as much ink as the wolf could carry (which was a lot, considering his toon origins), and after some careful application with his pen, the running melt began to solidify again. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and he could feel the ache go all the way down to whatever passed for his joints now, but it was leagues better than where it had been before.

“You should try drinking some,” Boris suggested softly from where he sat, legs crossed on top of a box. His eyes are on the floor, and his face is downcast, “You need to restore some of the ink in your body.”

Henry winced at the thought, “Eh, I’ll give it a minute. One thing at a time.”

Boris nods slightly, but he could tell the toon’s mind is far away. After a moment passes, the wolf then blurted out, “What did he do? I mean, that wasn’t like any gag I’ve ever seen before, and . . .”

He trailed off, and Henry looked at him, wincing as he pushed himself to sit a little straighter, “It wasn’t a gag. It . . . might have been acetone, or something like that. Ink remover.”

The horror that fills Boris’ eyes reminds Henry too late of the implications of his words, “I-ink remover . . .?”

Henry holds up a hand, trying to be consoling, “Hey, I’m . . . sure he didn’t plan on using it on any of you guys. It was probably for me . . .”

“He might now,” Boris whispered sadly, looking away. Henry winced, but he didn’t disagree with him. Who knows what Joey would do now that one of his creations had turned on him.

“We have to find Alice and Bendy,” Boris continued, eyes filling with worry, “They don’t know what’s going on.”

“No, they don’t . . .” Henry could agree on that much, “But will Bendy listen? Alice will, I’m sure, but you know how _he_ feels about me. He won’t trust what I say.”

“We have to try!” Boris said, desperately, “He’s . . . something bad’s happening to him, but he’s still my friend! If he knows what’s going on, then he’ll have to listen!”

Henry frowned, feeling sorry for the toon. He knew Bendy was sort of a victim of this too, but he was also unquestionably antagonistic, convinced of his guilt. Getting him to listen would be a monumental task on its own, on top of everything else.

And everything else . . . god, he can’t _believe_ what Joey’s trying to do. What he’d already done. To think that someone he thought he knew so well could turn into something so distorted was . . . it impossible to fathom.

But it became apparent he wasn’t the only one wrestling with this unsettling change, because he heard Boris quietly speak, “He’s . . . never yelled at me like that before . . .”

Henry looked at him, and with a start of alarm, he sees tears welling up in the wolf’s eyes.

“Hey, this wasn’t your fault, Boris,” Henry said, reaching out to place a consoling hand on the toon’s shoulder, “Joey’s angry at me. Has been since the beginning, I think. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Not anymore . . .” the wolf sniffs, despondent, and he crosses an arm over his eyes and cries.

Henry doesn’t know what else to say as to him. He’s never been good at comforting people. His gruffness tended to be a detriment in that respect. But he keeps a hand on the toon’s shoulder, rubbing his back from time to time, hoping the contact helps if only a little. And not for the first time, he wonders how it all came to this.

_

“What the heck happened here?”

Bendy has never seen the office so messy before. The door was bust, the carpet had some nasty looking burns in it, the radio wasn’t playing, there was ink _everywhere_ , and Joey looked like a complete disheveled mess. It would have been _hilarious_ if it didn’t also breed just a little concern in the devil.

Joey huffs, vainly trying to wipe the ink from his glasses, “A confrontation. One that ended poorly.”

“Huh?”

“I had a conversation with Henry,” Joey skips straight to the point, giving up and finally pressing his glasses back onto his face.

Bendy whirls around, “What? That good for nothin’? Whatdya want to have a conversation with _him_ for?”

“Well, I’d hoped to explain our position to him. I’d hoped . . . that he would agree to join us when he discovered just how wonderful this place was,” Joey sighed, face a perfect blend of disappointment and crushed hope, “As you can see, he disagreed. He’s content to turn his back on us yet again.”

Bendy growled. He’s not surprised, “Of _course_ he would! He’s a traitor, you said it yourself!”

“It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,” Joey said, “He’s turned Boris’ ear as well. The wolf has taken his side.”

That makes Bendy pause, and he points at the man, laughing in disbelief, “No way. Boris don’t take sides, he’s _Boris_! He wouldn’t . . .”

He trailed off as memory of a recent confrontation returns, and his finger drops. Joey leaps on it immediately, “You have doubts, don’t you my little devil.”

“He . . . he did say somethin’ once that I couldn’t believe,” Bendy admits slowly, and the ink on his head starts to run, “He said he didn’t believe you anymore! But I didn’t think he’d up and turn traitor too! He’s _Boris_ , he’s supposed to be my best pal, and-,”

He cut off abruptly, and a dark growl leaves him, “This is all _Henry’s_ fault. That two-timin’, double-crossin’, lying _snake_! I swear, when I get my hands on him, Imma give him what-for!”

“Well, I can hardly stop you. And Henry needs to be found before he breaks something important. But if you can, I’d like you to bring him to me,” he smiles, gesturing to the little demon, “After you give him what-for, of course.”

Bendy grinned, pleased that he’s been given the okay to take off the kid gloves, “You got it, sir!” he pauses, then asks, “And . . . what about Boris?”

“I’m sure once Henry’s out of the way, Boris will come back to us,” Joey reassures the little demon, “But we need to find our old colleague first. Can you do that for me, Bendy?”

“I think I can,” Bendy replied, crossing his arms and smirking confidently. He turned on his heel and made for the door, already putting together every devious trap he can think off to really rustle the old man’s jimmies and pay him back for the damage he’d caused, when Joey’s voice stops him.

“Oh, and also, if you see Alice, please send her to me. I need to discuss something with her as well.”

“Yeah, okay, okay,” Bendy said, giving him a thumbs up, “I’ll let the goody two-shoes know.”

“Thank you,” Joey watched as the demon leaves, sighing a little. He guessed it was a little hopeless to think Henry would understand. Still, it makes him angry to think that the other man somehow believes he’s in the wrong here. And Boris . . .

Shaking his head, Joey turned and sank into his chair. The office is quiet, and a mess, but he’s worked in worse conditions before. So, after a quick adjustment of his cuff links, he pulls out a pen and a padded notebook and begins to write.

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I have done with Joey and his personality is all that I've been able to extrapolate from Squiggly' posts on the man. Initially kind-hearted and with good intentions, but warped into something darker in his mad quest to make the world a better place!~
> 
> I also don't think he really wants to kill Henry either, honestly. He'd rather avoid such bloodshed still. But that is more a headcanon of mine rather than squiggly's, so don't take mine as fact.
> 
> I hope I've done him justice, even if he hasn't been introduced in the comics properly yet! ^.^
> 
> Poor Boris. First time babby's been yelled at by his dad . . . :(


End file.
